A mother's robe

I bought it when JR was four months old. I was baffled by it, overwhelmed, tested. I tried it; it challenged me. I frantically sought help, and received it. Later, I mastered it, and started wearing it ~ constantly, fondly. It became me. Over and around, and above and through. Tie at the front, tie at the side, tie to my life.

I treated it with care and respect. I reached for it all the time. On me is where it belonged. Everyday, like my hair, it accompanied me on trips. Where ever I went, it was there. It witnessed milestones, made memories, became immortalized. It took in the scenery, watched the days go by, listened to conversations. It went on airplanes, and in cars. It got packed in a suitcase, and fell on the ground. It got tasted, cuddled, soiled. It became part of the family. It was family.

For months it was a constant in the household. The garment above all garments. Then, one day it stopped. JR grew. It was the end.

I washed it, dried it, folded it and "bagged" it. I needed to protect it. I handled it with care. It was my history, my heritage, my future. It got "boxed" up. It was far, but safe.

Then, one day it began again. Yousef was born, and the story re-commenced where it was left last. Out of the box, out of the bag, but not out of practice. Again it became my second skin, the natural extension of my being. One again, I could not live without it, nor would I try. I reach for it before I dash out of the house. I reach for it when I am in the house. I feel "naked" without it. It is there where I cannot miss it - and yet sometimes I do.

Once again it is loved, needed. It is Joseph's favorite setting. It holds him close to Mama, and takes him places. It brings him home.

And after a long day, it rests. Perched high and away from curious hands, it goes to "sleep." Up the next day for another adventure.

I cannot imagine my world without many things, but without my wrap, it would be even more unimaginable.

Never "just"...

                                                 Finding Joy

Being all things...

"One of the most difficult parts of maturing as a parent is realizing that you can't always be all things to all of your children. Parenting is a juggling act where you try to give each child what he needs according to his stage of development and your energy level. Although mothers seem to defy many laws of mathematics, you just can't give one hundred percent to each child all the time. You may need to call in some reserves."
Dr. Sears

JR painted this mug for Jeff for Father's Day

The Story: What happens next ~ Weaning

According to Dr. Sears, weaning is not “something that you do to a child. Weaning is a journey from one relationship to another.” He goes on to explain that “the key to healthy weaning is doing it gradually.” Through weaning, mothers are helping their children move into a new phase of development, “not forcing him into it.” He warns that weaning by desertion is “traumatic.” And yet, that was the only option for JR and I.

I could have told you then, and can tell you now, that neither one of us was ready to let go of the other. You can call it codependence, you can call it mutual need, you can call it attachment. Whatever you call it, it was one of the strongest rings in the chain and all of a sudden it had to be cut off. It still breaks my heart to recall how it had to be done. You could not have bestowed a harsher sentence on either one of us at that time, and probably still cannot do. Being asked to let JR go in that way, after having just been asked to let go of her potential sibling, was more than I could take at once. As for JR, the poor little girl did not know what hit her. One day she was attached to my breast and the next she was being forcefully removed from it. And it took no less than 5 people colluding together to do that.

Those were long days, and even longer nights. Friends and family offered their support in every way they could. Some took JR out, others distracted her when at home. People brought me literature, breast compresses, and cabbage. I took showers, sat through engorgement and lived through the pain. I heard JR’s cries, saw the look on her face, and felt her reaching out. But I could not reciprocate. I had to let her go. I hardened my heart and distanced myself from her. She had to be physically removed from my company, and she resisted. She was fighting for what she knew best, and wanted most. She cried when she saw me and she cried when she saw her Grandma and Teta walk in the door; she knew they were there to take her “away.” She did not want to go, she did not want to play. But the one thing she wanted, she no longer could have. It was a sad time in the Mike household, but we all needed to make sacrifices. It was too bad that JR had to do it at such a young age.

And one day, it was over. Everything I had worked towards in the realm of breastfeeding came crashing down. All the research, the worries, the talks with the lactation consultants, the hours with the pump, the stash in the freezer, everything became a distant, a memory, an icon of another time and place.  My supply dried up, my breasts stopped aching, my pump was put away, and JR learned to live without. But my heart still hurts and my eyes still well up when I think back. We were not ready, it was not fair, and it should not have happened that way. I wish I could go back and undo it, redo it, or not have to do it, but I cannot. It was a tough lesson, but maybe it was for the best. It was crash course introducing me to the art of “letting go.” Maybe it is time I let go of that time.  Maybe it is time I threw out the last of those frozen compresses that, at the time of writing this, still calls my freezer “home.” I had been holding on to it for all this time, but maybe I should let go.

I want her to remember: A letter to Jannah-Rae

I want JR to remember the hours I spend in the kitchen making meals for her and us. And how much I enjoyed spending these hours in the kitchen.

I want JR to remember how I would sit her down in the kitchen and let her "help" me put some of these meals together. And how fun it was.

I want JR to remember how I would rush to make her a dish/dessert/snack she would ask for, right then and there.

I want JR to remember that her requests were, and always will be, very important to me.

I want JR to remember how I wear my hair up, my nails bare, and my face natural.

I want JR to remember how I dress simply and practically.

I want JR to remember that she always had nice clothes to chose from, but that when she asked to spend the day, and go out, in her pyjamas, Mama said yes.

I want JR to remember that essence is more important than show.

I want JR to remember how even when Mama is busy, she always tries to make time for her. And how I try to maintain a conversation with her, even as I am driving.

I want JR to remember how I drop everything I am doing and bend down, open my arms, and take her in when she comes toddling out of the room when she wakes up in the morning. And, how I do that whenever she walks in the door after being gone without me.

I want JR to remember how she brought happiness, and stress, and challenge, and innocence, and fun. And, how raising her is both a source of joy and worry.

I want JR to remember the hours I spent holding her, cuddling her, reading to her, singing to her, and sitting by her side till she fell asleep. The months she spent in the baby carrier, strapped to my chest or my back. The years she spent to my side, holding my hand, asking me to hold her.

I want JR to remember the times we sat together, and how she would look me in the eyes and say "Mama, talk to me!" or "Mama, let's talk."

I want JR to remember the bubble baths we took together, with me sitting in the tub with her. And, the tears she shed when it was time to wash her hair.

I want JR to remember that no matter how old she grows, how far she goes, or how much she changes, she will always be my Jannah-Rae.

I want JR to remember that no matter what happens, I will always be there for her. Always be her Mama.

 

 

Only two arms? Maybe you need some more!

“If Mom had three arms, she could put on a show. If Mom had four arms, she could make cars stop and go… But Mom has only two arms and that’s perfectly fine, 'cause when my mom hugs me... I know they’re both mine.”

Do you ever feel like you are having one of those days when you wished you had more than two arms? Maybe both your children want you to hold them at the same time, or maybe you want to unload the groceries in just one trip, or maybe you want to answer that call you’ve been waiting for all day right as you start cleaning up that chicken.  If you ever had a need for three or more arms, then you must read “If Mom had Three Arms.”

While a children’s book, I’ve actually gifted the book to mother friends of mine rather than their kids. Some days we just need some humor to make the day go by, and this book will certainly turn a rough patch in the day into a manageable one. Think of all the things you can do with multiple arms. Certainly the kid in this book saw many ways his mother could benefit from that luxury, if for nothing else except carrying his backpack.

But at the end of the day, moms have only two arms and yet they somehow manage to meet most, if not all, the family’s needs with them. And with hugging being one of the most important need, mom’s two arms provide ample room for regular snuggles and cuddles.

 

 

Mothers Day Wall

because every day is mother's day...

 

 

A spot in my heart.

A spot in my home.

A wall.

A photo.

A frame.  

And the years go by.

To capture the love,

is impossible to do.

But to record the memories;

that I can do.

We take photos,

each year at the same time.

To keep track of the changes,

as time goes by.

Time goes by,

but one thing holds true.

She will always have a spot

in my heart and my home. 

"Free" Time

I love having "free" time. I do not usually do much that is interesting with it, but I like the thought of having it. It is like "bonus" time, time to do whatever I want, eat whatever I want, and talk to whoever I want. That does sound nice, doesn't it? But that's all it is; a thought! When I have that time, what do I chose to do with it? Nothing! Mostly, I lie down; generally, I sleep.

"Sleep when your baby sleeps." I heard those words in what seems a lifetime away. "Sleep when you can." "Catch up on your sleep." I did not need to be told more than once; although at times I did need to be reminded of them. It feels like all I have been doing since early 2009 is sleeping, and yet it seems that I am still not caught up on it.

Ever since I found out I was pregnant with Jannah-Rae I have been trying to "get ahead" of sleep. I napped when I could, I slept early, woke up late, lounged and relaxed. I slept in late, napped on the weekends, and went to bed early when I could. I was planning on relaxing even more during my maternity leave, which I decided to take a couple of weeks before JR was due, but alas, she came next day after I started my leave.

So, when Jannah-Rae arrived I was hard hit with not having "banked" more sleep hours. And, like all new moms I tried to be a mom and continue with my "normal" life. So the phrase, "sleep when your baby sleep," had to be etched in my mind for me to heed its words. But when I did, a whole new world opened up; the world of sleep!

Now, more than two and a half years later I still sleep when Jannah-Rae sleeps. Yes! I nap with her every single day. When she used to take two naps, I used to take two naps. Now, she takes one nap, so I nap and then I hang out in the quiet and relax. I do not talk on the phone, I do not run errands. I may cook, clean at times, catch up on email and maybe fold laundry but mostly I try to be still. I may be behind on housework, but this makes me a happier Mama to a rested JR.

I also go to bed at night when she does; on many days if not all. Jeff tucks us both in and we snuggle together before we drift off to la-la land. Yes! She still sleeps in our bed; at least part of the night. Thankfully I have a husband who supports this practice. On other nights I stay up with Jeff, but that is still after I start out resting next to JR and making sure she is asleep.

So, when do I get "free" time? Some days not at all. Some days when I have help in the afternoon or early evening. But when I do get this "free" time, I still find myself wanting to rest. It seems that sleep is something you cannot bank. I wish I knew that when I was little and fought sleep tooth and nail!

Walk of Life, and Love

The young and the old;

Hand in hand;

Take a walk.

Could be down the street;

Could be around the corner;

Down the path of life.

The young gets older;

The old gets older;

And the love keeps growing.

A mother and a daughter;

Two anchors on either side;

While life drifts slowly by.

Customer Service

Customer service could go either way, good or bad. When you think about it, it takes the same amount of time to be nice as it is to be rude. And yesterday two sales people chose to be the latter.

We had just entered the clothing store when JR asked to go to the bathroom. What is a mom to do? Of course ask if she could use the store's bathroom. Knowing very well I could do that since the last time we were there I was allowed to use it not once, but twice, I innocently approached the checkout registers and asked. "We don't have one," was the first response, "but you could use the one at the bookstore next door." I was in shock! Really! I confronted her by recounting what happened the last time I was there only to be tunred down again by the other person standing there stating, "we are not allowed to do that." At this point I was mad beyond belief at the rudeness; it was a simple request for a little girl. What was the big deal?

I stormed out of the store, took care of JR and then went home to type out a customer service feedback online about my experience. I am now waiting for the response; should I ever get one.

I do not know why this has stayed with me for this long. I usually try to let go of things in a timely manner. But there was something about being turned down, and they way that it happened, that made me feel like it was a personal insult, an injury to motherhood. Maybe they do not have kids of their own so they do not know about potty training. Or maybe they do have kids of their own and just want to make things difficult for me like perhaps they are for them. I cannot really tell why people act they way they do. I can certainly control the way I react to their actions, but this time they got the best of me for a little longer than they should have.

Friday, the first of the month

Splashing in puddles.

I do not remember being able to splash in puddles growing up. As a matter of fact, all I do remember from growing up is the obsession with keeping my clothes neat, clean and tidy. No crumbs on the floor. No stains on my clothes. No scratches on my shoes. That was how my mother raised me. A neat house goes with it as well~

I am a little like my mom now. I like a neat house and prefer that JR's clothes remain unstained. But I have a toddler and I know these things happen. Although I do rush to the stain remover as fast as I can when opportunity arises, I sometimes force myself to back off because I am already seeing that part of me in JR as well. She does not like dirty clothes, dirty hands or dirty shoes. She is forever asking me to wipe her hands every time she takes a bit and gets really upset when she drops something on her clothes. So, in an effort to have the "buck stop here," I decided to put JR in her rain boots and take her on a puddle expedition.

We went around the building looking for puddles for her to jump in. I did try to keep her out of the mud, but that was asking too much. And, of course she then wanted me to clean her lady bug rain boots to which I instructed her to splash in more puddles.

It was a contained mess, a conrolled experiment, but it was fun. It worked. I pushed the envelope and she enjoyed herself. I see more of that in both our futures!